A Light in Dark Places
by RK9
Summary: A boy has been found badly beaten up in an alley, and the team comes in to discover who he is and to solve the murder that he witnessed. Read to find out more! Chapter 7 in! [Case File]
1. The Discovery

**Disclaimer: **I don't own. You don't sue. That about covers it I think.

**Notes: **Yes, I know. Less than 20 days to my examination and here I am posting another fic. Well, I need to de-stress from all the studying, savvy? So this fic is just for fun, a light piece for everyone to enjoy. May or may not be shippy, depending on how the inspiration flows...and on the reviews I get, of course.

Hope everyone enjoys. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows, and spam will be fed to my dog...but consrtuctive critiscism is welcome.

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**A Light in Dark Places**

**Chapter 1 – The Discovery**

"_Stop it, Tiger. It isn't funny!"_

"_Don't be a spoilsport." The bigger boy rolled his eyes and grinned. "It'll be fun."_

"_Stop it!" _

"_I said -"_

"_You'll hurt him!" _

"_Shut up!"_

_Tiger raised his hand. The silver blade of the knife flashed as he whipped it up into the air – and let it fall._

_Blood spurted, spraying over the faces of the three boys gathered there. Tiger grimaced and scrubbed at his face with his sleeve. The other boy scrambled backwards, looking horrified. The third, the one who had been beseeching Tiger to stop, gave a little, half-hysterical cry as he fell back onto his butt. _

"_No!" _

"_Shut up! You'll wake everyone!" _

_Tiger's warning came too late. Lights flashed on in the houses nearby, and voices started calling out, asking who was there and what was going on. The big boy flung himself on the smaller boy, smothering him, calling to his friend to help._

"_Hold him, Rico!"_

_Rico staggered forward, blood still staining his face, to grab hold of the smaller boy, who struggled hard, trying his best to wriggle free. _

"_Let go -"_

_Shouts. A siren filled the air. Tiger and Rico both glanced at each other, then both hauled the smaller boy up, bodily carrying him, and fled. _

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This was different, and a very welcome difference it was too, Detective Mac Taylor decided as he stepped out of his car and headed towards Detective Don Flack, who was just exiting the hospital entrance. Usually Mac would be stepping under the crime scene tape by now, but today's call had required his presence not at a scene, but at a hospital.

"Hey, Mac," Flack greeted him. "Vic's upstairs in his room, thought I'd meet you and walk you up."

Mac nodded, and asked, "What exactly is the situation here, Flack? You didn't say much over the phone."

"Wanted to tell you in person," Flack explained, leading the way slightly as they walked. Both of them entered the empty hospital elevator and Flack hit the button for the third floor.

"A 12-year-old boy was found dumped in the hospital dumpster out back," Flack said in between dings as they ascended each floor. "An intern taking out the trash found him, and he brought the boy in as soon as he realized that the kid was alive. The hospital staff treated him for his wounds, and as soon as he woke, they called us in."

Mac frowned. The elevator doors opened, and Flack led the way out into the hallway, guiding Mac towards a room at the end of the hall.

"Why exactly did they call us?" he wanted to know. "Why not call Child Services, or the boy's parents?"

"Because Child Services is backed up," the cop answered, "And the kid was beaten up so badly that he had amnesia. The doctor said it's probably temporary, but right now the boy can't remember much of anything – not his name, nor his address, or how to contact his parents." Flack stopped, and knocked lightly on a brown door, in a shade painted to match the walls of the hallway they were in. Mac vaguely wondered why they always painted hallways that color, but pushed the thought aside to ask, "So -?"

"So," Flack answered, "All the boy remembers – despite not knowing his name and what not – is that he witnessed a man being murdered somewhere in New York."

Mac stopped. Flack grinned and held up a hand as the CSI moved to get his cell phone out of his pocket.

"I already called Lindsey and Danny and put them on the Dumpster where the kid was found," he assured Mac. "I took the intern's statement, and I figured you'd want to be with me when I interviewed the kid. It's why I called you."

Slightly surprised that Flack had anticipated his actions and taken care of everything for him, Mac nonetheless nodded, and managed a slight smile.

"All right, Flack," he said, his warm tone the closest thing to a "well done" that the cop would get. "Lead on, MacDuff."

Flack grinned and opened the door.

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_The door opened, and he looked up as two men walked into the room. Both were tall, dark, and for some reason he automatically knew that they were policemen. One of them, who had striking blue eyes, showed a badge to the nurse who had been looking after him._

"_I'm Detective Flack, and this is Detective Taylor," he introduced himself and his companion. "We're here to talk to the boy." _

_He looked up. In his mind, something clicked. _

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The first thing Mac noticed was that the room was small, with a single white hospital bed next to the window, and a bedside table with a pitcher of water and a glass beside the bed. The nurse straightened at Flack's announcement, and the boy who was sitting up in the bed looked up.

Straight at Mac.

There was nothing special about this boy physically, Mac reflected, studying him quietly, with his trained investigator's eye. The boy had slightly curly dark hair, expressive brown eyes – well, the left one was brown, anyway, the right eye was covered by a bandage – and he sported a plaster cast from his left wrist to his elbow. Bruises peppered his pale arms and body, as well as a ring of dark purple that surrounded his left eye. His lip was cracked and bloody, and his nose had a bit of gauze stuck to it – to protect and hold his stitches together, after surgery on his fractured nose.

He had been beaten up badly, the detective realized.

The nurse nodded to Flack, and turned to the boy with a gentle smile on her face.

"You'll be safe with these men," she murmured, and the boy nodded. His good eye glowed suddenly as he looked up at her.

"I remember," he said, in a soft, yet clear, voice. The blonde glanced down at him, startled.

"You remember -?" she questioned.

He nodded, one dark curl falling over his bandaged eye in his enthusiasm. "I remember my name!"

Flack stepped forward, notebook in hand, pen poised. "You do? That's great! So, what is it?"

The boy turned, and Mac was once again the recipient of his intense gaze. He opened his mouth, winced a little as the movement jostled his nose, but went on determinedly, "My name is Taylor. That's all. That's all I remember. Just Taylor."

Flack looked slightly disappointed - he'd been hoping for a last name as well - but he wrote it down nevertheless. Taylor relapsed into silence, his gaze moving to the crease patterns of his bed sheets as the nurse murmured congratulations and gave him a brief hug before she moved to go out. Mac nodded to her as she closed the door behind her, then turned his attention on the boy.

"Taylor," he began, and the boy looked up. Mac smiled. As gently as the nurse had, he said, "Don't worry, we'll go slow. You'll remember in time. For now, let's start with what you _can_ remember – the reason we're here."

Their gazes locked. Taylor hesitated, but then nodded.

"I – I'll try."

It was all they could ask for. Pulling up a chair, Mac let Flack start.

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It was frustrating from the word 'go'. Taylor, it turned out, remembered nothing but the actual murder scene itself. He didn't know the names of the killers, nor of the victim. He only remembered the event itself, and even that wasn't really helpful.

"I remember being with two boys," Taylor said softly, each word carefully enunciated. He wasn't really supposed to be talking so soon after his nose had been operated on, but he clearly wanted to help. "We're in a sort of…garden shed. There are some broken flower pots in the corner, and some tools in another corner. I remember…a man. He's asleep on some old sacks, and he looks really dirty and grubby – like he's homeless, or something. I remember that I wanted to go out before he woke up, but one of the boys – a really big boy, maybe around 15-years-old – he tells me to wait. And then he takes out a big knife, and - " Taylor paused, alternately frowning and wincing as he tried to remember.

Mac waited, but Flack asked, "Did he stab the man?"

Taylor winced, trying not to frown as he thought. "No. He said he was going to, though. I remember telling him not to…we started arguing. He brought the knife up, and let it drop. I remember I started yelling, and he jumped me, and so did the other boy…" His eye lit up. "It was night!"

"Night?" repeated Flack. He nodded.

"Night. Because I remember the rest of the neighborhood was in darkness - one of the streetlights was broken. But when I started kicking up a fuss, they had to make me shut up cause people were waking up, shouting and everything." He frowned, then added, "I don't remember anything else…"

"No, but it's good. It'll help us sort out a timeline," Mac said, encouragingly.

Flack turned to a new page in his notebook and nodded, agreeing with Mac. "Can you describe the boys who were with you?"

Taylor hesitated. "You mean, to a sketch artist?"

"Well…" Mac nodded, "It would be easier than just sending out an APB based on a vocal description, yes."

The boy looked away for a moment. His right fist slowly opened out, flexing each finger, before clenching it again. Finally, he nodded.

"I can try. I don't know that I'll be any good, but I'll try to describe them."

"Good." Mac got to his feet. "As soon as the doctor gives you the green light, we'll bring you down to the station to talk to our artist. For now, Detective Flack will stay with you while you rest up and try to remember, all right?"

The boy looked up at him. "Why? Where are you going?"

The ex-Marine jerked his thumb towards the door, his expression mildly apologetic. "There's a crime scene downstairs that I need to see to. Don't worry, Flack will take care of you."

"Yeah, I will." The lanky detective made himself comfortable in the chair. "We'll talk, won't we, Taylor?"

Taylor's brown eyes flashed for a moment with something like fear, but then he looked away. Mac figured that the kid had probably memorized the creases in his sheets by now. Glancing at Flack, both scientist and cop exchanged glances before he picked up his kit and headed out. In the hallway, Mac pulled out his cell phone and made a call to Jane Parsons in DNA. There was a certain young boy he wanted her to process.

For now, he would just see how Lindsey and Danny were doing with the dump site crime scene.

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Well? Should I continue? Should I stop? Be it 'nay' or be it 'yea', please drop me a review! As I said before, constuctive critiscism is welcomed, but flames and spam will be laughed at.

Please say "Jack Sparrow's hat" in your review if you have taken the time to read my author's notes.

Random quote of the day: "Where's my jar of dirt???"

Kudos! - especially to those who know where that quote came from:)

RK9.


	2. Digging Deep

**Disclaimer: **I _WISH_ like heck that I did own CSI:NY, but I don't. (sigh) Wishes on a star just don't come true so easily…However, I do own Taylor, and that's something. :)

**Notes: **Okay, here's chapter 2. :) However, I gotta warn everyone that chapter 3 is not yet done, and since I only have 19 days left to study, I may not be able to perform such a quick update the next time. In fact, I'm pretty certain you guys might be in for a long wait. But if you'll bear with me, I promise to try my best to make it worth your while.

Thanks for reading, and on with the fic. :)

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**Chapter 2 – Digging Deep**

Sunrises were equally beautiful, no matter where you were in the world, Lindsey Monroe reflected as she stood for a moment in the small, dirty alleyway where Flack had told them the battered body of their victim had been discovered. Danny and she had gotten right to work as soon as they had arrived, and now Lindsey was snapping photos while enjoying the sight of the sun rising into the sky over New York, its golden light shining off the buildings which stood tall, reaching into the sky.

It was a beautiful sight.

"Lindsey?"

The sound of her supervisor's voice brought her crashing down from "view-admiring" mode and back into "work" mode. Turning around half-guiltily, Lindsey faced her boss and greeted, "Hi, Mac."

Mac raised one amused eyebrow. "Lindsey, I'd better not find any pictures of a glorious New York sunrise submitted into evidence."

"Don't worry, boss," Danny Messer's voice echoed slightly off the dank walls around them, "She's only been taking pictures of that cute young cop since we've arrived, no sunrises."

The young CSI from Montana glared at him, while Mac simply shook his head. Both were used to Danny's little quirks, and while it made working with him interesting, it could sometimes grind the nerves.

"I know where you sleep, Messer," hissed Lindsey under her breath, before she forced up a smile and asked, "You here to check up on us or to help, Mac? Danny and I have actually pretty much finished here."

"Just checking up," Mac replied, looking around, taking in the smelly alley and the overflowing hospital Dumpster at a glance. "Which one of you went Dumpster diving?"

"Me," Danny answered, raising his hand as though he was back in high school answering a teacher's question. He shot a look at Lindsey. "I'm too much of a gentleman to make Montana here get down and dirty."

She rolled her eyes and reported, "We didn't find anything, only a couple of discarded potato chip bags which had the boy's blood on them – you know, from when he was dumped here - but we think this was just a dumpsite, since we didn't find anything else. There were some shoe prints in the mud near the Dumpster, and we took photographs and impressions of the prints that didn't come from the intern's shoes."

"The intern says that he came out here to throw out some trash, and also to get a quick smoke in if he could, when he noticed the boy," Danny took up the explanation. "He saw the kid's chest moving and knew he was still alive, and so he called for help and brought the boy in."

"I doubt he's involved," Lindsey put her two cents in, then wished she hadn't stated the obvious when Danny smirked at her. Thankfully, Mac didn't seem to mind, merely nodding in silent agreement.

"Let me know what else you get," was all he said. "As for me, I'm going to get some pictures of the boy circulated – we need to find his parents."

"If he has any," Danny pointed out.

Mac shrugged. "How about we maintain some cautious optimism here, Danny?"

Lindsey smiled as she watched Danny pause and struggle for a witty comeback, but if he managed to find one, he kept quiet. Probably he'd decided that he'd better not push his luck with the boss. Waving an evidence bag, she announced, "Well, I'm off to the lab. You'd better come with me now, Messer, or you'll be walking."

A feeling of intense satisfaction filled her at the half-worried, calculating glance Danny sent her, trying to figure out if she meant what she said, and she hid her grin as she picked up her kit and headed for the car.

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_Flashes, shooting through his mind like a silent movie that's running too fast. A blonde girl, with wavy shoulder-length hair and mischievous brown eyes is running, chasing an equally blond boy who is about the same age as her. His eyes are blue – no, blue-green, and they are filled with laughter as he easily evades her grasp. The word "tag" comes to mind, and then the scene changes._

_Snow falls outside the window, little flakes that pepper the ground and fill him with a deep longing to go outside with – his father? Is that him? The tall, handsome man with slightly curly dark hair and kind brown eyes? He frowns, and the memory fades, to be replaced by another._

_This time, he sees a hand flying over a piece of paper, guiding a pencil and sketching…a bird or some sort. Yes, it's a bald eagle, and he watches with wonder as the sharp beak is swiftly drawn and sketched, then the body, from the wings all the way down to the feathered tail. The fine details are drawn in too, and he gasps at how detailed the drawing becomes – is that _his_ hand drawing such glorious artwork, such beautiful imagery? The scent of lead unexpectedly fills his mind, and suddenly, something clicks. _

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The boy had been sleeping ever since Jane Parsons had made her exit from his room. The lab's DNA expert had responded quickly to Mac's call, and Flack had watched her as she processed the boy with swift expertise, at the same time chatting gaily with the boy about something called Pokemon, apparently a subject Taylor remembered and liked as he had managed to debate quite well on the topic of "Pikachu vs Raichu". Jane had apparently followed everything, but Flack was still wondering what they had been talking about...

The nurse showed up with a lunch tray around noon, and with her came Mac, with the cheerful news that the doctor had said Taylor could go with them to the PD after lunch.

"Great," said Flack, who had decided he liked the kid after spending a day "reminding" him of the joys of football and baseball. Taylor was too skinny to have been a football player, but from what Flack could see of his right arm, he might've been a pitcher, maybe.

Over on the bed, the boy stirred, and his good eye opened. Mac moved to help Taylor sit up.

"How're you feeling?" the CSI asked, handing the boy a glass of water from the tray.

Taylor cocked his head slightly to one side, considering before he replied, "Better. Not everything aches this time."

"That's good." Mac passed him the plate of what looked like scrambled eggs -the stuff was so limp that even a dozen lab tests wouldn't have revealed the truth. Flack glanced at the green stuff on the other plate. It looked like broccoli, but he wasn't sure. Thank heaven he wasn't hungry.

From the way Taylor was eyeing the eggs, it looked like he had lost his appetite too. The boy glanced hopefully up at Mac. "You got any _real _food?"

The detective frowned for a moment, then shrugged. "How about we pick up some hot dogs on the way to the station?"

Taylor thought about it. "Some ice cream, too?"

Mac grinned. "Deal."

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After the relative quiet of the hospital, the lab turned out to be actually frightening to the young boy. He flinched away from loud noises and people, and stayed close to Flack and Mac, heaving an audible sigh of relief when the reached Mac's office, where their best sketch artist was waiting with a computer set up, ready for Taylor. The boy eyed her carefully, then sat down in the chair pulled up by Flack.

"Ready?" asked the cop, leaning over to talk to him. "All you have to do is describe the two kids who were with you, and Dana here will take care of the rest."

Dana nodded and smiled at Taylor, who hesitantly smiled back. He was looking rather uncertain, but he began, "I remember the boy who did the killing was about 15-years-old. He, uh, had dark hair and green eyes, and sort of…Brad Pitt lips."

Dana bent over her computer, frowning in concentration. She turned the screen so that Taylor could see. "This kind of lip? Point it out to me."

Taylor stared at the screen. There was an as yet unformed face in the middle of the screen, and the pair of lips he had described was there. Something about them didn't seem quite right, and he paused, scanning the other options. None of them called out to him, and he frowned.

"Not any of them," he announced, but Dana was optimistic.

"We'll find it," she said cheerfully. "How about we focus on hair and eyes first?"

They worked together for two hours, but soon something became all-too-apparent to the watching detective and cop: This wasn't working. Taylor was unable to properly describe the boy whom he could see in his head, and so Dana was unable to reproduce the murderer's face. Finally, Taylor looked up.

"I can't do it anymore. I'm sorry."

Seeing the utter misery and helpless frustration in the boy's eyes, Mac realized that he had reached his peak. He could help them no more tonight. It was disappointing, but there was nothing anyone could really do about it.

"Don't worry about it," he said, in as reassuring a tone as he could manage. "We'll try again some other time."

He received a nod in return, and then the dark head was bent as Taylor returned his gaze to his favorite place – the floor. The kid seemed to have some sort of problem with making eye contact, really.

There was a knock on the door, and Mac turned to see Stella waiting outside. Giving Taylor an apologetic nod, he strode over and stepped outside. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Stella shook her head. "There's a young girl downstairs – she just came in to file a missing persons report. We think Taylor might be her brother."

"And we know this because…?"

"Because she gave her brother's name as Taylor Berenson," Stella replied patiently. "She described him perfectly – even mentioned that he had a small birthmark on his right shoulder shaped like a tiny spider."

Mac glanced inside, towards the boy. Holding up a finger, he re-entered his office and moved straight over to Taylor.

"Taylor," he asked carefully. "Do you remember if you have a sister?"

The boy cocked his head to one side as he thought it over, then nodded slowly. "I think so – I've been having these weird dreams…"

Dreams? Mac paused. "Tell me what you see."

One brown eye met his, and Taylor answered, "A girl, about 15, with shoulder-length blonde hair, slightly wavy. And a boy, also blond, with dimples and a sort of crooked grin."

"Do you remember their names?" Flack put his two cents in, reminding Mac of the cop's presence. "I mean, those could be any kids."

Taylor shook his head. "No names. But I sort of _know_, you know?" He looked up as Stella came in.

Something clicked, and he said, "Wait."

They all stared at him, and he flushed uncomfortably at the attention as he said, "I think her name is Shayla."

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Ba-dum-bum! Clang!

Sorry, that was me trying to end this chapter on a dramatic note. (grins sheepishly) Anyway, please press the pretty purple button down there - it's marked "Go" - and type something in the space that appears! Pretty please? And please say "chocolate pumpkins" in your review if you read the author's notes and like the story. :) It's Halloween here, anyway. Happy Halloween to those who are celebrating it!

Random quote of the day: "And to you, Frodo Baggins, I give the light of Elendil, our most beloved star. May it be a light for you to shine in dark places, when all other lights go out."

Kudos,

RK9.


	3. Unexpected Complications

**Disclaimer: **(sings to the tune of the Barney song) I don't own, you don't sue…I'm not doing this for pro-o-fit… I don't own and you don't sue, and everyone will be happy…

**Notes: **If anyone notices any discrepancies in the names, I apologize - I actually used a different set of names which I changed last minute. Taylor's ...uh, sister...is Shayla Fawkes-Berenson, and his legal guardian is Shawn Berenson. The other two siblings should be Jesse and Meggie. If any other names appear, then I missed them when I edited, so just ignore that and mentally replace it with the right names. ;) Sorry!

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**Chapter 3 – Unexpected Complications**

The girl was waiting patiently in the middle of the waiting area when Mac headed over with Stella for the interview. It was common procedure; Mac had to make absolutely certain that this girl was indeed Taylor's sister before he handed the boy over. It wasn't until the CSIs had gotten up close, though, that they noticed the slight fidgeting and the worry in the brown eyes – that, incidentally, weren't at all like Taylor's. She looked to be about 15, somewhere between a girl and a grown woman, and yet her manner was all too adult as she turned to greet them with a rather wan smile.

"Hello," she said, her young voice tinted with just a hint of hopefulness. "Have you found my brother?"

Since she was looking at Stella, the woman smiled reassuringly and answered, "Well, we're not sure. We have to get a bit more information from you before we make certain, all right?"

The girl nodded nervously, and sat down without waiting for an invitation. Mac and Stella joined her, both of them taking their seats opposite her on the sofa. Stella began when Mac didn't volunteer.

"So," she asked, notebook in hand, "Your name is…?"

Tired brown eyes met hers, and the girl replied, "Shayla. Shayla Fawkes-Berenson. I usually go by Berenson, but Fawkes is my father's name. My brother is Taylor Eighn Berenson, and he's twelve this year. He's been missing for a whole day already. He didn't come home at all last night, and he hasn't been at school or at home this whole day."

Which could easily be explained, thought Stella, since he'd been at the hospital all day with Flack. Taking down some cliff notes, she asked, "How old are you?"

"Fifteen." Shayla looked up rather defiantly. "Our legal guardian went out of town for a conference in Las Vegas. He won't be back until tomorrow at least. I was supposed to be in charge until then, but when Taylor disappeared I called him. He's on his way back, but I thought I'd come here first and make the report. I left my other brother at home with the baby, so I knew I could come here."

Legal guardian? Stella frowned, but Mac beat her to it.

"What happened to your parents?"

The girl's eyes flashed a little, but she shrugged and replied, "Don't have any. They're both dead – to me, anyway. Shawn took me in when I was five and I've been with him since then. Same goes for my brothers. Jesse and Taylor don't have any parents but Shawn. And my little sister Meggie was recently adopted from a local orphanage. Shawn's our dad, but officially we have to call him our legal guardian."

Momentarily stunned by the revelation – not exactly something one heard every day - Stella paused. Thankfully, Mac was ready to take over.

"Some guy, your "dad", taking in four kids like that," he commented quietly. "Anyway, about Taylor. You say he has a birthmark…?

A quick nod. "On his right shoulder. It's small, shaped like a spider. Not like the one on Spiderman's costume, but it's still…spider-like."

Jane _had_ noted the birthmark when she'd processed the boy thoroughly in the hospital, and Mac had even seen the photograph of it. Though the thing looked nothing like a spider to him – Spiderman's or otherwise – Mac had to admit that if he saw it from Shayla's point of view, it _could_ have eight legs and multiple eyes. Maybe. He did have to stretch his imagination a little, but he finally saw it.

It wasn't enough for him, though. He needed a little more…though it was going to be rather difficult, since Taylor couldn't remember much about himself, so how would they check the validity of any facts Shayla provided about her brother? They would need physical evidence, decided Mac.

Sensing his hesitation, Shayla asked, "What's wrong?"

"Well," said Mac, before he paused. "Well…"

Stella quickly took up the thread of his sentence. "What my friend means," she told Shayla, "is that we can't just hand Taylor over until we're absolutely certain that he's really your brother. It would really help if you had some physical proof, documents maybe, or some other kind of distinguishing mark on his body that we can check – besides the birthmark," she added as Shayla looked ready to protest.

The teenager thought for a moment, and finally said, "I…I don't have access to Taylor's birth certificate and adoption papers – those are in Shawn's office, and it's locked. And Shawn won't get back until tomorrow." She looked up pleadingly. "Can't…can't I see him? If he could see me, he'd tell you I'm his sister, and then -"

"That would be the problem," Stella sighed, explaining, "The boy we have found has amnesia. He does remember a sister, but he wasn't very sure about the fact."

Shayla blinked. "Am…amnesia?"

Looking at her expression, a mixture of fear, shock, horror and disappointment, Stella glanced at Mac. The poor kid was worried sick and about ready to drop – for all her maturity, this was something she wasn't yet ready to handle. Mac's expression softened, it was clear that he felt for the girl, too, but until they had some proof…

They were interrupted just then by one Sheldon Hawkes, who looked rather confused as he beckoned urgently to Mac. Stella stayed with the girl as the detective went off, wondering what was going on.

Meanwhile, Shayla bent her head and clasped her hands together in her lap. With her eyes closed tightly, it looked like she was praying.

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Joining Hawkes by the water dispenser, Mac waited as the younger CSI fidgeted slightly and said, "I think we have a problem."

As if they didn't have enough? Mac rubbed tiredly at the back of his neck and fought off a sigh. "What is it, Hawkes?"

The former coroner turned and pointed towards the reception area. All Mac saw was a middle-aged couple waiting by the receptionist's desk, but apparently Hawkes knew a little more than he did. "Who are they?" he asked, curious.

Hawkes drew himself up a little, dramatically announcing in a loud whisper: "They're the Gianettis. They say that Taylor – our Taylor – belongs to them. They're claiming that he's related to them, and he's staying with them while their cousin – that is, Taylor's father – is in jail. And here's the clincher – they say their cousin is Sonny Sassone, Mac."

Mac turned and looked at the couple with renewed interest. Anyone that had anything to do with Sonny always interested him, and the fact that these people had come in person to claim Sonny's – alleged – son…

It meant that either Taylor had something they wanted, or that Taylor really was Sonny's flesh and blood. A simple paternity test would prove the truth, but something didn't feel quite right. He got the feeling that Shayla was telling the truth when she said Taylor was her brother, and somehow…he didn't feel that Taylor belonged with the Gianettis, despite their claims.

Luckily, it was his job to discover the truth. Nodding to Hawkes, he left the other man eavesdropping by the water dispenser as he strode purposefully over to the Gianettis.

The couple introduced themselves as Sam and Eliza Gianetti. Sam was in his mid-forties, with slicked-back dark hair and a rather self-satisfied expression on his smug face. His wife was in her late thirties, touching forty maybe, with blonde hair the clolour of wheat and rather watery blue eyes that Mac disliked on sight. They were cunning, those eyes, and filled with a sort of deep intelligence. The word 'snake' came to mind, but he pushed it aside and forced himself to keep his prejudices well under control.

"Detective Taylor," he introduced himself, holding out his hand. Sam shook it, and nodded heartily.

"Yeah, we know all 'bout you, don't we, Liz?" he asked his wife, sneering at Mac as much as he dared – this was, after all, a police station. "You're the copper who put our Sonny in jail."

That was true, so Mac said nothing in response. Abruptly, he asked, "My colleague tells me you're here for your missing nephew?"

At once, Sam's manner changed, and his expression became nearly tragic. "Yes, yes…our cousin's boy, poor kid. He's been living with us while his Papa's in jail, and he went missing about a day ago – young rascal must have been out all night, bless him."

"We'd like him back," agreed Eliza. "Normally we wouldn't bother, we've got five kids waiting for us at home to feed and love, but we're partial to this one, y'see, he's a good lad, and we promised his Papa we'd take good care of the boy."

"Yes, Sonny's our favorite cousin," Sam put in. "Was a wrench when you blue boys put him in jail. We just know young Taylor misses him – and us."

"I wouldn't know," Mac eyed the couple carefully, not buying this sudden act of compassion one bit. "You do know the boy has amnesia? Convenient, I suppose – he won't remember you one way or another, nor his "Papa"."

"Amnesia?" cried Eliza, looking horrified. "The poor child! What's happened to him, Detective?"

Mac kept his expression neutral. "He was badly beaten up. But anyway, the fact is that I can't simply hand him over to you – not without proof that he's your cousin's son, or that you're both his legal guardians. So -"

"We anticipated that, Detective," Sam cut in quickly. His big hands began patting himself down until they came up again with an envelope from his jacket pocket. "We brought our papers, and some for the boy. So you'll see we're telling the truth."

Mac felt like someone had just checkmated him when he had been about to win the game. Frowning in disbelief, he took the envelope from Sam, and pulled out the documents inside. There was a birth certificate for one Taylor Eighn Berenson, born on the 18th of October 1994, whose mother was Carla Rubin and whose father was one Sonny Sassone. There were also official documents and certificates stating that Sonny Sassone had signed his son Taylor over to the care of his cousins, Samuel and Eliza Gianetti, until he got out of jail, or until Taylor turned 21, whichever came first. The documents looked real enough, but Mac was determined to have them tested and checked first – a sentiment which he quickly informed the Gianettis of, and to which both heartily agreed.

"Hell, go ahead, Detective – we've got nothing to hide, do we, Liz?" Sam had that self-satisfied smile on his face, and Mac got a sinking feeling deep inside. Sam's smile was already telling him that the documents were probably legitimate, and by law, he now had to hand Taylor over to the couple, despite what his instincts were telling him inside – that Taylor didn't belong with these people, documents or no documents.

Feeling slightly sick, he forced himself to assume a poker face and faced the couple once more. "Whether or not these documents are authentic," he informed them firmly, "an investigation will have to be opened, since you're not the only people laying a claim on Taylor. Taylor's sister has also come down to the station, and she too claims to have genuine documents that state Taylor belongs with her and their legal guardian. I cannot hand Taylor over to either side until I know the truth as to where he belongs."

Sam's smirk slowly dissipated into a scowl. "What?"

"Detective," said Eliza, leaning forward slightly and trying to look earnest, "I'm willing to bet my last nickel that this girl you're talking about doesn't have anything. Taylor's our nephew, and he belongs with us, least until his father gets out of jail."

"Sorry." Mac wasn't going to give in on this point. Not when Taylor's well-being was involved. "Not until a full investigation has been done."

Sam scowled harder, turning and muttering something to his wife. Mac let them discuss in whispers, until finally Eliza looked up again.

"You win, Detective," she allowed graciously. "An investigation it is, but you'll find we have nothing to hide. We'll be back, though, and we'll not leave without Sonny's son."

Was that fear or defiance that he saw in her eyes? Mac squinted a little, but it didn't matter. He got to his feet, bade the couple goodbye, and rubbed the back of his neck again before heading back to Stella.

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And another chapter bites the dust... ;)

Please say "Pongo" in your review if you have read my author's notes and enjoyed this chapter. :)

Random quote of the day: "There is a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased this line."

Kudos to those who are bearing with me - you are lifting my spirits during a truly trying time for me. The person who invented examinations should be shot. (sigh)

RK9.


	4. Dreams and Uncertainties

**Disclaimer:** I don't own...you don't call your lawyers.

**Notes:** Not much on the team this time around...sorry. I wanted to delve a little into Taylor and his siblings. :)

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**Chapter 4 – Dreams and Uncertainties**

It rained heavily all night, and no matter how tightly Taylor curled up under the mattress, he could still feel the cold through even the thick blanket that Flack had provided for him. The young boy sighed. Between the dreams and the cold, he was never going to get any rest.

The dreams had been getting worse. Some were scary, fierce and terrible nightmares which had Taylor waking in a cold sweat, terrifying images of himself trapped in a shed with a dead man filling his mind and refusing to leave, even when he turned on the light. Some were warm, filling him with a deep sense of peace and security as he dreamed of people whom he did not remember and yet knew almost better than he knew himself. He was confused, really. He hadn't a clue as to how he was supposed to sift through all the images and info that swirled through his mind. How was he supposed to figure out what was true and what was just…well, what was just a dream?

Was he even really sure that his name was Taylor? Hell, maybe it was a cousin's name, or a friend's. Maybe he had a brother, a sister, an uncle or long-lost great-grandfather named Taylor. Maybe his name was something much more mundane, like Fred or Simon or James. Or maybe it was something so exotic that he'd never remember it in a million years – Bartholomew, Kenai, Solomon?

Heck, maybe he'd been named after the family dog. He had no idea.

'_How will you ever know for sure?' _

Taylor slipped off the couch and sat for a while, wrapping the blanket around him and thinking through his shivers.

Despite all the doubts, somehow he felt like he knew at least three things for sure – his name really _was_ Taylor, he really did have a sister out there somewhere, and that a man really had been killed. Those memories were the clearest, the most positive. Taylor felt quite certain that if those memories were false, they wouldn't be so…_vivid_, somehow. He scratched absently at his ear as he thought about the other dreams.

He'd seen the one of…someone?...drawing an eagle quite a few times now. It wasn't always an eagle, sometimes it was a different bird or animal, or maybe a landscape or picture of a house or building. Once the drawing had been so abstract that he'd been totally unable to tell what it was at all. He hadn't a clue as to whether it was actually his hand, or someone else's. He had tried fiddling with a pen and a notebook that he'd found in Flack's house, but his hand had been unable to recreate the beautiful pictures that he saw in his dreams. It didn't necessarily mean that he wasn't an artist though…maybe he'd forgotten how to draw as well as everything else? Maybe...maybe drawing hadn't been a natural talent, but rather a skill that he'd had to learn and practice in order to be good at it?

Maybe…

The light clicked on, and Taylor jerked a little, startled. Flack came padding out of his bedroom in a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt that had seen quite a lot of the inside of the washing machine. The cop was rubbing sleep from his eyes and yawning.

Taylor hesitated, hoping that he wasn't angry that he wasn't sleeping. "D-did I wake you?"

Flack grunted, apparently not capable of speech just yet. A quick glance at the clock on the wall showed that it was 3:17 in the morning, and still raining. Taylor waited, and was reassured as Flack managed to grunt, "I was going to use the bathroom. Nothing to do with you…"

It was only after he flushed that he tagged on the "Don't worry" that was supposed to have ended his previous sentence. Taylor smiled, deciding that he liked Flack.

He liked Mac, too. Both detectives gave him a feeling…like he was safe, like no one would dare to hurt him again while they were near him. Flack made him smile, and it was only a minor problem that the cop knew absolutely nothing about Pokemon. That was really the fourth thing Taylor was absolutely certain of pertaining himself – he knew about and liked Pokemon. He was surprisingly able to spew all kinds of Poke-trivia, though he didn't even know his father's name…

The couch creaked. Taylor looked up to find Flack sitting on the couch beside him, with a strangely concerned expression on his face. He looked down at the linoleum floor almost automatically, for some reason wary of the concern, although he liked and trusted the cop with every fiber of his being.

"Can't sleep?" Flack reached out to gently touch Taylor's shoulder. Taylor shook his head, and sighed.

"I keep on having these weird dreams," he confessed. "And, it's a little cold…" He ducked his head, shy at having to ask any more of Flack, who had already been so kind to him. "I'm sorry…"

"Don't be – I'll get you another blanket," the detective said, his voice gentle. "Listen, Taylor – you need to let me know if you need something. I'm supposed to be taking care of you until Child Services figures out who you are – or were – but I can't do that if you don't let me know when you need something. I'm not psychic, okay?"

The boy shivered. Flack waited for him to nod before he went to get the promised blanket, a thick woolen one that had gotten him through two of the worst New York winters already. He was pretty sure it still had some warmth left in it for a rainy New York night. Returning to the living room, he found Taylor trying to settle down again on the couch, though his cast was making it a bit of a challenge. Flack tucked him in, pleased to see a sleepy sheen to the boy's eyes.

"Goodnight," he murmured, patting down the blanket gently. Taylor yawned.

"Goodnight," he answered.

He was asleep within ten minutes. Flack shook his head slightly.

Something was wrong, or had been wrong, in the kid's life before the amnesia, he was certain of it. And with this new development with Sonny Sassone, he was pretty sure that whatever it was, it was _bad_.

Though he hadn't told Taylor, Child Services was working on finding out his adoption records, at Mac's request. In the meantime, the supervisor of the NYPD crime lab felt that Taylor would be safer with Flack. He'd told Flack to watch his back, and never to let the kid out of his sight.

"Something's wrong about the Gianettis. I wouldn't put it past them to try something, maybe grab Taylor from right under our noses. Let's keep the kid safe."

And one thing Flack knew, was that any hunch Mac Taylor had was probably not far off the mark. The detective checked to see that his apartment was securely locked for the night one final time before he went back to his bedroom for whatever sleep he could get.

And outside, on the street below, a young boy of about fifteen years of age huddled under a ragged umbrella, his amber gaze fixed on the window of the cop's apartment. As the lights went out, he nodded in satisfaction and reached into his pocket for his phone.

"Hello, Pop?" He raised his voice a little over the rain. "I know where the kid is. If you want me and Rico to grab him, I reckon we could do it now."

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Meanwhile, it wasn't much more than a few blocks away where Shayla Fawkes-Berenson wasn't able to sleep either, though not because of the rain. Shawn's house – their _home_ – had central heating, and her younger brother had turned up the thermostat when the temperature had spiked earlier.

"Meggie might catch cold," he'd said defensively when Shayla had complained. He always said that, never admitting that he was sensitive to cold. Shayla still didn't know why, but she humored him. Besides, it was true that Meggie caught colds quite often in cold weather.

Hugging herself, the young girl gazed forlornly out of the window, watching the road and driveway. Shawn would be home soon. He'd been really worried when she'd told him that there was another couple claiming that Taylor was their son, and so they couldn't have Taylor back just yet. He'd promised to come home as soon as possible, and Shayla knew that meant that Shawn would be home soon, much sooner than he'd originally said he'd be back. It was the way Shawn was, and the knowledge reassured the frazzled young girl a little.

Behind her, a light came on in the hallway, then the living room light. Shayla knew without looking that her brother had entered the room. Jesse and she had been "siblings" for a very long time now, they were closer than most brothers and sisters – at school, their closeness had even earned them the nickname, "The Almost-Twins".

After all, she was only older than Jesse by a few months, they were in the same class, and whenever there was the need for the students to pair up for any projects, even the teachers had come to expect that the two of them would pair up together.

Jesse chose a seat on the sofa nearby. He didn't say anything – he didn't have to. Both of them were worried about the same thing, and both of them were waiting for the same man.

Shayla turned to look at him. Jesse's blond hair was mussed from sleep, but his blue-green eyes were alert as he returned her gaze.

"Is Meggie asleep?" Shayla asked, turning back to her vigil.

"Yeah. You know, it's weird."

"What?"

Jesse looked and sounded serious. "I went to check out Shawn's office, and the cabinets and everything are all locked securely. And yet, when I checked the computer that controls the locking system, it said that Shawn opened the locks and withdrew a folder – three days ago."

Shayla turned back to him in alarm. "Just before Taylor went missing?"

"Yeah." Jesse scratched absently at his back. "But it's weird, because Shawn's been in Las Vegas since _four_ days ago. So it couldn't have been him."

"But it couldn't have been one of us either," Shayla said, worriedly. "We don't know Shawn's passwords. He doesn't write them down or keep them anywhere."

Jesse shrugged. "So it couldn't have been anyone else, could it?"

"But Shawn wasn't here!"

Her brother blinked, and Shayla became aware that she'd been yelling. A loud wail came from Meggie's room, and Shayla instantly felt guilty – poor little Meggie.

"I'll go." Jesse shook his head when Shayla started to get up. "You need to be here when Shawn gets back so you can tell him what happened."

Shayla nodded. "Sorry."

"She'll live." He got to his feet and padded off down the hall. Shayla heard him soothing Meggie, calling her "Nutmeg" and murmuring softly.

Nutmeg. That had been Taylor's nickname for their baby sister. It helped that she'd come to join their family just after one of Shawn's old aunts had sent over a Christmas cake. Taylor had been fascinated by how many different types of nuts she'd managed to put into it, though he'd refused to actually eat the cake – he hated nuts, saying that they stuck in his teeth. Shawn had humored him, taking out some of the nuts that fell out when he cut the cake, and playing a game with Taylor to see if he could identify all the different kinds. Taylor had named all the nuts correctly, thus winning the game – and then he'd turned thoughtfully to his new baby sister and said, "Does Nutmeg want to be carried, Shawn?"

None of them had ever forgotten that slip of the tongue, and it then became an affectionate nickname for the little girl.

Wait – was that a car? Roused from the bittersweet memories, Shayla leapt eagerly to her feet.

Shawn was home.

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Random quote of the day: "Never let it be night, but always clear day in any man's sight." - Spencer Reid, Criminal Minds. (quoted from memory, which isn't very good)

Thanks to all who are still here reading. :) Please review!

RK9.


	5. Hidden Tiger

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CSI: NY. Period. You all can stop rubbing it in now...

**Notes: **I am so sorry. I know, this chapter has taken a very long time to churn out, even after I came back from six weeks in Jeremiah School. What can I say - I've been busy, or busy being depressed, or away at prayer conferences...but anyway, all I can do is apologize, and hope not everyone has run away yet... For those still reading, I have more planned for Taylor, yes, and I'm not giving up on this fic just yet - hope everyone enjoys this incredibly late chapter 5. Forgiving me for updating this late is a whole other matter, I know... :)

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**Chapter 5 – Hidden Tiger**

_The tiger roared. Power rippled through its body as it moved, all muscle and sinew and grace and beauty as it walked along, hunting…_

_Movement! The tiger turned and lunged, claws extended, jaws opened in a ferocious snarl…_

_Taylor froze, curled in a helpless ball on the ground, his eyes fixed on the massive creature that was coming at him. His mouth opened, and a scream of pure terror began fighting its way out…_

"Taylor! Taylor, wake up!"

A light flicked on, and Taylor found himself staring into Flack's concerned face. Desperately, he threw himself into the safe haven of the cop's arms and started sobbing.

He knew who the boy was now, the one who had killed the homeless man. But he still wasn't sure who _he_ himself was…

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The rain had stopped at long last. Grateful for the reprieve, the young boy known as Tiger slowly lowered his umbrella. His clothes were drenched, and his shoes were so wet that every step produced a rude squelching noise, like the sound porridge made when he played with it, only magnified, oh, by about a quadrillion.

Of course, he wasn't quite sure how many zeros there were in a quadrillion.

Anyway, it was time to head home. Pop had told him to hotfoot it back, and he knew his Pop's tone of voice – it meant a lecture, a shelling, possible beating depending on the atrocity of his screw-up, and then a visit to his Grand-uncle's. Well…sort of Grand-uncle, he didn't know what else he could call him.

Besides Uncle Sal, of course.

Rico, one of his closest friends since they had started bunking school in kindergarten, slipped quietly out from a nearby alleyway. If there was one thing Tiger and his pals knew, it was the ins and outs of all the New York City streets. They knew which roads took them where in the shortest – or longest – amount of time. They knew all the best hiding places, places the cops wouldn't dream of finding in a million years. They knew the best hangouts, the best parties, the best places to steal cars… the best place for girl-watching too. This was their turf, even down to where the Peltham Bay boys hung out… though of course, they couldn't officially call that their own.

Not yet, maybe…

Tiger stopped. Rico stopped too. Both boys glanced at each other.

"I gotta go to school tomorrow." Rico was frowning, as though the very word "school" unsettled him.

"What? Why?" Tiger glared at his oldest friend. "We had a deal! Both of us take turns to bunk off this week!"

"I have to!" Rico's frown deepened. "Some punks at school have been picking on my little sister."

"Who, Tanya? She can take care of herself, can't she?"

"I'm not leaving her alone, Tiger." Rico was deadly serious now. Tanya and he had about six years between them, but he was very protective of her and his younger brother Tommy. It was Rico's one habit that Tiger could never understand. Tiger himself had four younger siblings at home, and he hated each and every single one of them – though maybe hate was too strong a word. He "strongly disliked" them, anyway. Three sisters and one brother – it was enough to drive him mad. Especially his brother, who seemed to want to copy Tiger in every way possible.

Rico was waiting for his answer, and after a few moments of careful thought, Tiger shrugged.

"I'll meet you after school."

A nod. But Rico knew his family pretty well.

"Unless your Pop grounds you."

Tiger sighed. "Unless Pop grounds me," he agreed. "But I don't know why he's so pissed."

"Maybe…" Rico hesitated. "You don't suppose it's got anything to do with the kid?"

"How could it? Pop didn't even know about him. It was me that found out who he was!" Tiger flared. "Pop wasn't supposed to find out either, not till I'd found out a bit more…"

"If he knows, it wasn't because I told him."

Rico was nothing if not used to Tiger's rages by now. The boy took a few minutes to calm down. He glared at Rico, his amber gaze smoldering fiercely. "I'll deal with Pop," he growled. "He doesn't know as much about this kid as he thinks he does…"

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"_His name is Antony Gianetti, but people call him Tiger. He's the oldest son of Sam and Eliza Gianetti, and he's also Salvatore Sassone's favorite grand-nephew. He's supposed to have been specially chosen by Sonny Sassone himself to carry on the Tanglewood legacy in the future, and he was trained from an early age to carry on the family business that Sal Sassone is running."_

It was with great trepidation that Mac thought over Taylor's words. The boy had said them with great certainty, though he hadn't known where the words were coming from in his mind. But for the boy to know words like "Tanglewood" and "Salvatore Sassone"…

Flack came right out and voiced Mac's deepest fears. "He must have been involved in some real deep shit, Mac," the cop said, worried. "It's never anything but trouble when the Tanglewood boys are involved. Or one Tanglewood boy in particular, anyway."

Mac didn't say a word, but he knew that Flack knew him well enough to read his expression. Both detectives were now sitting in Mac's car just outside the residence of one Shawn Berenson. _Dr _Shawn Berenson, no less – and it was only after learning his full name and title that Mac had realized he knew him.

Taylor's adoptive father was one of the leading experts in forensics science. No particular field, but the man had been a real good CSI and cop. However, he'd dropped out of the game, retiring early, without even saying why.

Mac thought he knew the reason, though. Being a cop, Berenson had put away a lot of scum and made many enemies. And being a man with many enemies just wasn't good criteria for any cop wanting to settle down and start a family.

The door opened then. Mac straightened in his seat at the sight of the tall, dark-haired man who exited. Shawn Berenson stood about 6 feet, and still had the slightly brawny physique from his time on the force. His eyes were a deep brown, though at the moment they were hidden by a pair of spectacles – and fixed on Mac's car. Flack had called earlier to let him know they would be dropping by, so they weren't a surprise to him at all.

Mac got out first. Flack cursed as his seat belt got caught on one of his shirt buttons, but he was out and following closely after Mac by the time the CSI reached the front door. Berenson shook both their hands warmly, though this close, Mac could clearly see the strain on his features.

"Dr Berenson," he greeted politely. "I'm Detective Mac Taylor with the NYPD crime lab. This is Detective Flack. You mind if we ask you a few questions?"

"Not at all. Please, come in." The other man nodded and led the way.

Shayla was there to greet them with a tray of iced lemonade and some pineapple tarts. She smiled at Mac, recognizing him at once. With Shawn Berenson around, she no longer seemed worried about anything, apparently having some strong faith in her adoptive father's ability to handle the situation.

Berenson took himself a seat opposite the two detectives. His eyes were worried, though he cleverly masked that when he thanked Shayla for bringing out the food and drinks.

"Thanks, honey. Listen, I'll be right here with the detectives, you and Jesse don't need to worry about anything, all right? If I need you, I'll call you."

"Okay." Shayla shrugged and left the living room, moving left down the hallway. Berenson watched her go, then gave a little sigh as he turned back to the two men.

"This hasn't been easy on her," he murmured, almost to himself. Then, straightening, he looked at Mac. "You told Shayla you needed proof that Taylor is my adopted son?"

"I did." Mac had to admit that Shayla had done a good job in keeping her father in the loop. "Did she tell you -"

"That Taylor has amnesia? Yes, she did." Berenson finished his statement for him. "I don't know what to tell you, Detective," he said, suddenly looking wan and tired. "Taylor was here when I left home for my conference about five days ago. I had to leave early in the morning to catch my flight, and he was fast asleep – so I tucked his blanket around him a little tighter, and left. I left Shayla in charge because she's my eldest – I've done it before, and she's always very responsible in taking care of her brothers and Meggie."

Flack had his notebook out by now and was writing everything down. "About what time did you leave for the airport?" the cop wanted to know.

Berenson thought for a moment. "My flight was at six am, so I left the house about five. Shayla packed me some sandwiches for breakfast and promised that she'd see Taylor off to school. I called his teacher, she said he never arrived at school that morning – even though Shayla dropped him off at the gate."

Mac blinked. The other man had been fast – apparently he hadn't lost all his detecting skills while he'd been in early retirement. Pausing, he asked, "But Shayla didn't know he had skipped school?"

"No." Berenson shook his head. "She would have called me if she had – All my kids take their education very seriously, and if Taylor did skip his lessons, then I know it must have been for a good reason."

"Any idea what reason that would be?"

"None whatsoever. But anyway, he met Shayla at the gate after school ended as usual." The ex-cop answered Flack's question. "Oh, and by the way – these are Taylor's documents – his birth certificate, his adoption certificates and papers…everything."

Mac slowly took the folder that was held out. Opening it, his eyes widened of their own accord. It was the second time in his life that he was seeing these documents. They were, in fact, identical in every way to the ones that the Gianettis had given to him – at least, they seemed identical, but Mac was now determined to have these compared to the Gianetti's set in the lab, and properly.

Wait. Mac picked up the birth certificate, noticing one tiny difference at last – though definitely not one he had been expecting.

"Taylor's birth mother," he asked Shawn Berenson slowly, "What was her name? Did you ever meet with her in person?"

Berenson frowned. "Yes, of course. My wife and I both met with her to discuss adopting Taylor. She handed him over to us right after giving birth to him – as though she wanted nothing to do with him. Her name was Carla Gianetti."

"Gianetti?" Flack looked up from his notebook sharply. "You sure about that?"

Berenson nodded at the same time as Mac showed his coworker the official document that he was holding. "It's right here, Flack. And look at Taylor's father's name that's listed here -"

" - Sonny Sassone."

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**Cliffhanger! Hehe, but not much of one in my humble opinion. When I'm not down with flu (like now) I'll get to work on the next chapter, where I can promise a little more about Taylor's family. :)

Thanks for reading. Please drop a review, and say "cheese" if you read the author's notes and liked the story...

RK9.


	6. The Important Things

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CSI: NY or any recognizable characters. Only Taylor and his family are mine.

**Notes: **Finally got chapter 6 up...school's starting again on May15th and I wanted to get another chapter done before I got busy again... Anyway, sorry for the long wait...hope this chappie is worth it...Once I started working on it I couldn't seem to stop typing... so I finally cut off with a sudden stop. Hope to have chapter 7 up sooner rather than later... and I'm currently looking for a beta reader. Anyone interested, please review and let me know. :) Otherwise, this is all self-betaed...so I apologize for any mistakes in advance. Enjoy!

**Another little note: **This chapter is dedicated to notesofwimsey, who has been waiting for quite a while for me to explain about Shawn Berenson... I would have done it sooner but I couldn't fit it into the storyline... heh, enjoy!

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**Chapter 6 – The Important Things**

"Okay, watch my hand. I have the coin here, in my right palm – or do I? Okay, watch my fingers here… and boom!"

Taylor giggled as Danny held out his hand, grinning smugly. His right hand was empty now, though just a few moments before Danny had been holding a coin in it. Nearby, Lindsay and Stella were looking reluctantly impressed.

"Not bad, Danny," Stella complimented the CSI, who smirked.

"I can do it, too," Taylor said eagerly. He grinned at Danny. "You palmed it."

A pair of surprised blue eyes turned on him, and he giggled again. "I know how you did it," he repeated. "I saw you palm the coin."

"Good eye!" Hawkes had been sipping his hot coffee nearby, and now he winked at Taylor, who smiled back.

He liked these people. It wasn't just that they were fun, or that they knew how to handle kids like him. It was the fact that just being with them gave him a sense of security, and he knew that nobody could ever hurt him as long as they were there. He was perfectly, perfectly safe, and the thought helped him to relax.

Mac and Flack had gone off somewhere, he wasn't sure where. Stella and the others probably knew, but no one had told him anything, so he didn't want to ask. He had been fed – Stella had gotten him some sandwiches for breakfast earlier – and Danny had produced a Nintendo DS game console for him to play with, along with two games, so he was happy. Content.

Content but for the nagging thought in the back of his mind that said that it wouldn't be long before something else happened to stir the calm waters of his life…

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For the first time in all her fifteen years, Shayla Fawkes-Berenson found herself contemplating her family.

She hadn't always been with Shawn. She'd been born in the winter to a junkie mother and an abusive father. Though her mother had never told her she was unwanted – and Shayla did remember one occasion or two where her mother had been clean and had professed to love her – her father had made sure she felt unwanted, and the young girl had been subjected to both physical and emotional abuse for close to four years. Finally, a concerned neighbor had called in Shayla's predicament, and a year later, the girl had been adopted by Shawn Berenson and his wife Anabel.

All Shayla could really remember of the first time she had been introduced to the Berensons was the idea that they were the perfect family. Shawn and Anabel had one son already – a little baby boy named Taylor, who had been about two. It wasn't until later – when she'd settled in a bit more – that Anabel had told her how the little boy had also been adopted, like Shayla.

"_His birth mother didn't want him, but we did," _Anabel had said, and it was then that Shayla had learned that they were hoping to adopt another young boy as well.

"_He's about your age, Shayla. His name is Jesse. His parents were alcoholics, and the police found him all alone in their family apartment one day. Both his parents were missing – they'd left Jesse all alone…" _

"_And you and Shawn adopted him, Anabel?" _

"_Yes, we did. And you know, you'll have to help us, honey."  
_

"_With what?" _

"_With Jesse. You see, ever since his parents abandoned him, he hasn't spoken one word. The doctors call it 'post traumatic stress disorder', which is a really fancy way of saying that he was hurt really bad inside by what his mother and father did to him -"_

"_Like I was?" _

"_Well…sort of. Only because he's still not fully recovered, he… well, he doesn't talk. Maybe he's scared, maybe he's sad or still hurting… I don't know. But what I do know, is that with a lot of love and care, he'll get better." _

And he had gotten better. It had taken some time, but Jesse had eventually started smiling and laughing and talking again, and today he had turned into a well-brought up, well-adjusted teenager, and everyone was proud of him.

As though she had summoned him with her thoughts, Jesse materialized in her room just then, wearing his usual serious expression. He had his history homework book in one hand, and a yellow permission slip in another. With a grunt, he proceeded to plonk himself down on Shayla's bed and stated, "You think it's a bad time to remind Shawn about the Father/Kids' Camping Trip that's in two weeks?"

Shayla rolled her eyes. "Duh, Jess. He's kinda got a lot on his mind right now, don't you think?"

"But Mrs Prakowski said we have to hand in our camping forms by Monday next week. Shawn hates last minute things."

Shawn. Dad. Shayla rolled over onto her back and rested her head on her pillow. "Why do you reckon we call Shawn "Shawn" when we're talking about him in private, but when we talk to others or Shawn, we call him "Dad"?"

Jesse frowned. "I dunno. Does it matter? We know who he is."

Shayla shrugged. "I guess so. Hey, how many words do we need to write for that history essay again?"

"No limit. So long as we fill two pages. Shayla?" Jesse leaned forward, his blue-green eyes intense. "What if… what if we can't get Taylor back?"

That got the young girl's attention, and she bolted upright. "What are you talking about? Shawn has his documents and stuff. Taylor will be back with us in no time!"

Her brother sighed. Looking down at his history book with unconvinced eyes, he merely nodded and began writing.

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One thing about being a former cop – Shawn had learned how to read all the various reactions of those currently serving as law enforcement officers. Some – mostly rookies – were as easy to read as a "Keep Out" sign, while the more experienced officers would have worked out their own brand of poker face over the years. These two in front of him were especially good at it, but there was something in his gut that told him they were surprised – and that was putting it mildly.

"Carla Gianetti? Are you sure that was Taylor's birth mother? Her real name?" The one named Mac was asking him, something glinting in the sharp blue-gray gaze. Not a man to be fooled with, this one. He nodded, wondering what exactly the CSI was getting at.

"Yes, Carla Gianetti. She came to the adoption agency while my wife and I were there, looking to adopt our first child. She had run away from home – apparently her parents didn't approve of her pregnancy – and somehow my wife took a liking to her. Carla said she would allow us to adopt her child if we would give her shelter, food and protection – she never said exactly who she needed to be protected from, but we assumed it was either her family or her child's father… I was apprehensive about the whole affair at the time, since I knew the name Sassone from my time on the force, and Carla had told us that was who her child's father was. But it didn't matter – my wife liked Carla, and she turned out to be a sweet girl in the end… She stayed in an apartment we found for her until the baby was born, and then she left for Washington in the hopes of finding a new life there." Shawn swiveled the ice in his glass as he finished detailing the life of the girl he had once known. "My wife and I adopted Taylor, and two years later we took in Shayla, then Jesse…and now Meggie."

"Four kids?" Flack looked curiously at him. "No offense, but isn't that a little bit much to cope with?"

The ex-detective couldn't help but smile. _'Talk about your million-dollar question…I should put up an FAQ somewhere, and this would be top of the list.' _Everyone asked him that, from friends and family to doctors, social workers, neighbours…anyone who heard that he and his wife had adopted four children. Shawn himself didn't see that it was so unusual – he was pretty certain he'd seen it happen on a TV show before?

Turning to the detectives, he explained quietly, "Well, it was more of a dream of my wife's, but I ended up sharing it too. You see, Anabel and I both came from nothing. Anabel was adopted by a rich couple who were unable to have a child of their own, and she had a happy life with them – a life filled with love and laughter. Her adoptive parents gave her everything she needed, and now that she had the means to support a child financially and emotionally, she just wanted to share her good fortune by adopting a less fortunate child who would otherwise end up being bounced around in the system until they turned 21. And so we adopted Taylor. Only…Anabel wasn't satisfied with that, and coincidentally, word came to us of a little girl who had been abused, who needed a family. It was just…like a sign. Taylor was two when Shayla came to live with us, and after that, it just seemed natural to take in Jesse as well – even though he was suffering from PTSD due to being abandoned by his alcoholic parents. And before my wife died, she fell in love with little Meggie – she died shortly before the adoption went through, unfortunately. Cancer." Shawn sighed to himself, overcome by his memories for a while…before he forced himself to look up again. "She tried to fight, to hold on until Meggie arrived…but she didn't make it."

Mac reached over and gripped his arm. There was something in the other man's eyes that said he knew a little of what Shawn was feeling. He, too, had lost someone dear to him – Shawn could see it. The ex-cop nodded slowly, and rose to his feet. "Wait here, please?"

Leaving both his guests, he hurried to his study. Why hadn't he thought of this before? To think, it had taken memories of Anabel to remind him… Digging through his drawers, it didn't take him long to locate what he was looking for, and he quickly headed back to where Mac and Flack were patiently waiting.

"You said you needed proof," he blurted out, unable to keep the hope from his voice. "Here's several years worth."

And he carefully placed an enormous, well-bound, leather photo album into Mac's waiting hands. "This one we've kept since Taylor was born," he said, smiling fondly at the old book that was filled with memories and love. "Shayla and Jesse each have their own, and I'm starting one for Meggie. There's one for our whole family as well. Anabel and I figured we needed _some_ photos, you know, to embarrass them with when they're in their late teens or so…"

Mac suddenly perked up. "So…you'd have pictures in here – _dated_ pictures – from Taylor's birth until recently?"

"Yes, and some of him with my family," said Shawn, nodding. "Proving that Taylor has lived with us from the day he was born until he disappeared." He looked at Mac. "Please, Detective Taylor, when can I bring my son home?"

There was a half sob, and all three men looked up to see Jesse and Shayla peeking at them over the stair railing. Both were looking hopefully at Mac as well; Jesse especially seemed close to tears. Shawn held out an arm, and the young boy ran to his father like a shot, Shayla following close behind, to be enveloped in a warm, reassuring embrace.

Mac had seen enough. Lifting the album, he asked, "May I?"

Shawn nodded solemnly. "If it'll help you bring Taylor back sooner, Detective Taylor, you can take the whole house, the car, and the family dog, too!"

And Mac smiled. "I don't think that will be necessary. Come on, Flack, we've troubled Dr Berenson for long enough." He nodded to Jesse and Shayla. "I promise you, I'll bring your brother home soon."

And with Shawn's experience at reading cops, the ex-detective could see that it was a promise that Mac meant to keep.

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And the end of chapter 6! Moving along aren't we? Hope this answers noteofwimsey's question about Shawn...if you need more explained...well. Hopefully I can chuck those into later chapters...and I hope it's good enough and at least semi-realistic! I admit, I don't know much about the American adoption system, despite repeated attempts to research the subject...so I kinda went with what I saw on an episode of Monk, where this couple had taken in four foster children. If anyone has any useful links, please feel free to pass them along:)

Kudos,

RK9.


	7. The Breaking of the Storm

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own...

**Author's notes:** I'm so sorry. Real Life has been a pain in the behind, and I've still got two more exam papers to go... the lack of muse didn't help much either. I'm so sorry for posting so late...but anyway, chapter 7 is up. Hope you all enjoy. :)

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**Chapter 7 – The Breaking of the Storm**

_Taylor, a newborn, nestled safely in his new mother's arms._

_Taylor, aged three, being carried by Shawn so he could blow out the candles on his birthday cake. _

_Taylor, aged six, holding a soccer ball under his arm, standing next to Jesse, both boys covered in mud and grass stains that would be hell to wash out._

_Taylor, aged nine, grinning at the camera in a family photo of Shawn and his siblings at what was apparently Shayla and Jesse's primary school graduation, judging from the outfits they were wearing in the shot. _

And there were so many more… Awed by the images captured by the camera of a devoted father, Mac respectfully replaced the photographs that he had removed from the album and closed the book. This was more than sufficient proof in his book – and it didn't hurt that Social Services had verified the authenticity of Berenson's documents – that Taylor was indeed, Shawn Berenson's adopted son. Adam was still working on the papers that the Gianettis had given him, though, and Mac knew that despite what his gut was telling him, he had to wait until the results came back before he brought Taylor back home to the family who was waiting for him. It didn't seem fair, but…

A knock on his door signaled the arrival of Stella, and Taylor by her side. The young boy was clearly delighted to see Mac again, and he greeted the detective very enthusiastically, leaping at Mac and hugging him – though he was careful not to whack Mac with his cast.

"Hi, Mac! Where did you go?" Taylor's brown eye shone happily. "Danny's been showing me how to play Pokemon Mystery Dungeon on the DS – he found out I liked Pokemon from Jane in the DNA lab."

Well. And what had happened to the timid kid who had once before been terrified by everything and everyone in the lab? Amused, Mac gently directed the boy over to his desk, seating him in the chair.

Taylor looked very different from when Mac had first seen him in the hospital just – was it really only two days ago? It felt like he had known the boy for weeks, and all of them had fallen in love with his unfailing spirit and gentle nature. Of course, physically he hadn't healed as much as he should have – there was still bruising around his left eye, and his right eye was swollen almost-shut without the bandage to cover it up, and his cast and nose fracture would take time to heal as well. But still, he seemed to be healing emotionally, where it counted, so Mac wasn't about to complain.

"What's this?" Taylor looked curiously at the photo album on the table. His good eye widened, and he blinked. "Are those photos?"

Mac hastily tried to cover up the book without making it seem like he was trying to hide it, moving some files over the book while pointing Taylor's attention over to another subject. Stella raised an eyebrow, but followed his lead.

"Hey, why don't you head down to the vending machines downstairs and pick out some tooth poison that you like?" she suggested, bringing some spare change out of her pocket. The young boy looked at her uncertainly, but then he nodded and took the money, sliding off Mac's seat and trotting obediently out of the office. Mac waved a little as he disappeared from sight before turning to his coworker.

Once he had explained the situation, Stella's eyes shone. "So Shayla was telling the truth. Taylor _is_ her brother. He's got a father and a brother, and two sisters. He'll be so glad to hear that, Mac."

Mac could guess, and he said so, but added somberly: "Still gotta wait for the results from QD on the documents the Gianettis gave us, Stella."

"But -"

"But we have to be fair," Mac reminded her gently. "If not, we'd be making assumptions, and we know that isn't acceptable."

Stella muttered something under her breath about rules and former Marines that didn't somehow sound complimentary, but Mac let it slide. He glanced at his watch. Taylor had been gone a few minutes. Maybe he was having problems working the vending machine.

Danny chose that moment to poke his head in. "Hey. Where's our little guy? Lindsay and I have been looking all over for him. We thought he might like to head to the McD's across the street and get a burger or something."

"We sent him down to the vending machines a few minutes ago," Stella replied. She smiled fondly. "He did mention a fondness for cheeseburgers, didn't he?"

"Said he could eat three in one sitting, and still have room for fries, a sundae, and a drink," Danny reported to Mac. "Lindsay doesn't believe it, so we're taking bets. We thought we'd feed him while he proves what he can do one way or another…kill two birds with one stone, and all that."

Mac's cellphone rang then, and he answered it automatically. Flack's voice greeted him from the other end of the line.

"_Hey, Mac. I think we got something here. A man just checked his friend into the hospital, something to do with his buddy being stabbed by some kids a couple nights back. Sound familiar? They're both homeless, but the injury was bad enough that he needed real help. Better get Taylor over to the hospital, see if he remembers this guy, or if the guy remembers him." _

Instantly alert, Mac nodded, even though Flack couldn't see him. "On our way, Flack." He looked at his team. "Lindsay – we're going to the hospital. Danny, do me a favor and go find Taylor, please."

The young man nodded and left, Stella following him. Lindsay scurried off to fetch her kit and Mac's, promising to meet him downstairs in five minutes. However, Mac had only just gotten his suit coat on when Stella came back in, a little flustered.

"Taylor's not at the vending machines, Mac. I asked around and no one remembers seeing him there." The curly-haired woman looked a little worried. "Do you think he got lost on the way down?"

"Maybe," allowed Mac, sensing that this was not a good time to tell Stella that he doubted the boy had lost his way. Danny had taken him around, and Taylor had proved to have a fantastic sense of direction, memorizing the layout of the lab faster than even Mac himself had when they had first shifted here – and that was saying something, seeing as Mac was a former Marine. "Where's Danny?"

"Looking for Taylor," answered Stella. "Mac, you don't think…I mean -" she paused, then went on, "He's okay, right? I mean, what could possibly happen to him here? This is the police station. No one could snatch him from under our noses…"

Lindsay joined them, was updated on the situation, and they were all starting to get slightly worried when Danny came back, holding a slightly confused Taylor by the hand, with Sheldon just behind both of them.

"Thank goodness," breathed Stella, wiping the worry off her face with a smile as they entered.

Hawkes looked sheepishly at his friends. "The machine was out of Snickers, so I brought Taylor across the street to the 7 Eleven we have there. Then we saw a man running a shell game, and we lost track of time. I'm sorry." He grinned down at Taylor. "On the other hand, this kid has a great eye on him. Six and a half out of ten times, he knew where the pea was."

That didn't sound right. "Six and a half?" repeated Mac, relieved that the boy was safe after all.

"Half 'cause I chose the right shell, then Hawkes convinced me to pick a different one," Taylor explained earnestly. He looked at Mac. "You've got your coat on," he observed. "Are you going somewhere?"

Mac nodded. "We're headed to the hospital, Taylor," he explained. "We need you to see if you can identify a man who's just been brought in. We think he might be the man whose stabbing you witnessed."

"Oh." Taylor nodded at once, straightening slightly. "Okay, sure. So…you mean he didn't die?"

There was hope in the young voice, peppered by a hint of fear and Mac knew that he was remembering the actual stabbing. No young eyes should ever have to witness such violence, he thought, wondering once again why Taylor had been there in the first place. He just couldn't see Taylor being mixed up with the Tanglewood Boys, and yet…

But that could wait for another time. He reached out and took Taylor's hand from Danny's, then led the boy towards the elevators again. They needed to get to the hospital right now, and see if they couldn't clear up another piece of Taylor's puzzle.

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The hospital was crowded when they got there. Mac had to circle a few times before a parking spot became available. Technically, he could have pulled rank with his shield, but he didn't feel it was necessary – Flack had the man they needed to see with him, he'd said they were waiting in the hospital waiting room. Taylor and Lindsay followed him as he led the way, to where the lanky cop was seated, long legs bent awkwardly due to the low hospital waiting room couch. He could have stretched them out, but had chosen to sit up instead with a Starbucks cup in his hand. Next to him was a man, with sandy blond hair, and a worried expression on his face. He was somewhat grimy, but had removed his cap at the sight of Lindsay approaching, proving that chivalry and manners weren't completely dead just yet.

"This is Detective Taylor and Monroe from the crime lab," Flack introduced them as they came to a halt in front of him. "And this is the boy I mentioned earlier – the witness to your buddy's stabbing." He turned his blue gaze back to his co-workers. "This is Joe. He says he doesn't have a last name. His buddy Al is in surgery right now."

"Al didn't do anything wrong," Joe defended his friend. "I don't know the how and when and what of it all, but I know Al, and he's a good guy. Don't go pinning anything on him just cause he's homeless," he warned with a glint in his eye. Mac felt a surge of respect for the man; he had lost his home but not his pride.

"Sir, we know that Al is the victim in this case," he said, his tone polite, not accusing. "We just have to check something out."

"The nurse took this picture of him, as per hospital procedure," Flack put in. He held it out for Taylor to see. "Is this the man you saw Tiger stabbing?"

Taylor hesitated, but he looked at the photograph and his eyes widened almost instantly. "That's him," he exclaimed softly. He looked at Mac. "It's the same man."

"All right," Mac responded, "Good work, Taylor." Now they had a positive victim ID, their jobs would be slightly easier. He nodded to Lindsay and made a sign that she should take Taylor off somewhere while he asked Joe a few more questions. The young boy was trembling, and Mac had a feeling that it wasn't beneficial to have him stay, especially since Al's stabbing seemed to be the only concrete thing he could recall…having to face the actual man from his memories had to be slightly traumatizing to say the least.

But at last they were making some progress. Mac watched as Lindsay settled Taylor with a male nurse near the other end of the hall, just outside a supply closet that the nurse had emerged from. Something seemed off, but Taylor accepted the young man readily enough, looking down at the floor, subdued.

The detective frowned. He didn't understand the dread he felt in his gut…

"Mac?" Lindsay approached him again, kit in hand. "So…what do we do now?"

"Al should be out of surgery soon," Mac said, trying to wrench his mind back to the case. However, his mind defied him – it continued to ponder what had seemed so off about that nurse… The former Marine froze.

"Lindsay," he exclaimed, swinging around to stare at the space where the little boy had last been, "Why did that nurse have on a uniform with the logo of a different hospital on his breast pocket?"

Shit. Crap. Hell. Taylor was gone, but he couldn't have been taken far. "Lindsay, you take the stairs," Mac ordered, pointing. "Flack, with me! We can't let them leave this hospital!"

He'd promised Taylor's family that he would get the boy back to them safely, and Mac wasn't about to let anyone or anything stop him from keeping his promise.

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Tar-rah! Please press the pretty purple button, and say "The Dark is Rising" in your review to show you read the author's notes...however short they may be. :)

RK9.


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